


vertex

by rosestone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Gen, Lily Evans Potter Lives, as a result this universe is dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 20:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17608445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosestone/pseuds/rosestone
Summary: Vertex: the point where two lines join at an angle.Fifteen years ago, two children died, and Voldemort believed he'd averted prophecy.  As any number of myths could tell you, it's never quite that simple.





	vertex

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for additional warnings.

Hermione carefully slid the black mask over her face, pressing down at the edges to make sure it stayed in place.  
  
It wasn't _just_ a mask, of course: there were spells fixed into it that would make it harder for people who saw her to remember details about her appearance, whether it was hair or accent or height.  Not that she expected people to see her, not on this particular errand; but that was the rule.  
  
_Don't leave the safehouse without a disguise.  You aren't just risking yourself - you're endangering everyone else.  Including the children._  
  
She drew her wand, a thick, knobby thing with a child's inexpert carving on the handle, and pressed the tip to her temple.  The fine filaments of memory slipped out so much more easily than they had the first time she'd done this, years ago.  She sealed them away in a vial and placed them carefully in the safe.  If anyone ever found them, the curses on the safe would destroy it and everything inside.  It'd be hard, losing anything she'd left inside - but that was another rule.  
  
_Don't take sensitive information with you when you leave.  Your capture could mean the end of everything I've worked for if they can force our location out of you._  
  
She padded out into the office, clearing her throat.  She didn't want to interrupt - not when everyone there was so busy - but that was another rule.  
  
_Don't leave without telling someone where you're going - and what you're doing.  If we have to send back-up, we need to know where you are and what to expect when we get there._  
  
"I'm going for training now."  
  
Lily Evans looked up from the paperwork in front of her.  Her hair was as vibrantly red as it'd been the day they'd met.  Hermione had often thought she should've had at least some grey - look at what she spent all day doing! - but age barely seemed to have touched her.  
  
"Good.  The more people we have who can master this, the better.  Let us know when you're back, all right?"  
  
She nodded.  In the back of the room, Dean mouthed _better you than me_.  
  
Honestly.  _Boys_.  
  
  
The house she Apparated into was small and grimy, the windows boarded over and furniture covered with cloths.  She'd never been outside, and had no idea where it was.  But that didn't matter.  She was here for a purpose.  
  
"Ah.  Good."  The man who'd been waiting for her at the far end of the room was wearing a mask too - but unlike hers, his was designed not for disguise, but to create fear.  
  
The first time he'd replaced his plain black mask with the bone-white one at one of their lessons, she'd tried to curse him, reacting out of pure panic.  He'd congratulated her on her reflexes.  
  
She still couldn't quite believe Lily had managed to turn a Death Eater.  
  
"Clear your mind," he said, the words more warning than instruction by this point.  
  
His wand twitched, and she was under attack.  
  
She took a breath, focusing on her shields.  The point of their lessons now was less about learning the skill of Occlumency and more in its refinements: maintaining a mindscape perfect enough that an attacker would believe they were seeing her true thoughts, or keeping her barriers up if she was distracted.  Not that it was likely that she'd ever have to worry about maintaining her shields in a fight, but she might be tortured if she were captured.  
  
They hadn't practised that.  Yet.  He was a Death Eater, after all.  If anyone was capable of harming a student as a teaching method...  
  
She could feel him pressing at what he assumed were her weak points.  Some _had_ been weaknesses, once, now reinforced to stop him breaking through again; others were deliberate creations, there to distract anyone who realised they were in a false mindscape and give her time to marshal her defences.  A few might genuinely have been problems he'd found, and she made a note to examine them later.  
  
Finally, he lowered his wand.  "I want you to drop your barriers," he said, voice soft.  "It still takes you far too long to throw me out of your memories."  
  
She nodded, suppressing a sigh.  This was one of her least favourite parts of the lessons, though no less important.  
  
A twitch of his wand, and -  
  
\- _chips of wood flaking away under her knife, paring the branch down to a wand-like size_ -  
  
\- _"Very good, Hermione.  Now, can you work with Justin, help him get his wandwork to the same standard?"_ -  
  
\- _Lily's eyes seemed to burn in her pale face.  She smelled like smoke, and something strangely sharp._  
  
_"Fiendfyre," she said flatly.  "Too far gone by the time we got to the house to get any of them out.  It was hard enough keeping it away from the neighbours."_ -  
  
\- _She couldn't sleep.  It was too hot, but every time she kicked her sheets off her legs went cold, and - what was that?_  
  
_There was a noise downstairs.  Something breaking.  It couldn't have been Mummy or Daddy, could it?  They'd gone to bed._  
  
_She slid out of bed and tiptoed to the door.  Mummy and Daddy were whispering in the hall, too quietly for her to understand what they were saying - but there he went, striding down the stairs with something clutched in his hand.  Whatever was going on, he'd fix it._  
  
_"What are -"_  
  
_She flinched back from the door.  He was screaming, he was screaming horribly, someone was downstairs and they were hurting him, she knew it.  Where were the police?  Weren't they supposed to stop things like this?_  
  
_Someone's hand wrapped around her arm.  She tried to pull away, sobbing._  
  
_"I'm not here to hurt you," someone whispered urgently.  A woman.  "I just want to get you away from them."_  
  
_She turned, hesitating.  She couldn't see the woman's face in the dark.  The window was wide open behind her, and she was holding... a broom?_  
  
_"How do I know that?"_  
  
_The woman let go of her arm and drew a stick from a pouch at her waist.  She waved it, murmuring something under her breath.  A glowing doe leaped from it._  
  
_It was beautiful._  
  
_"My name is Lily.  I'm a witch.  Those people downstairs - they can do magic too, but they're evil.  They're trying to find children who can learn to do magic, like you, and kidnap them.  I'm trying to save as many children as I can from them."_  
  
_Daddy screamed again._  
  
_"But what about..."_  
  
_"I'll protect them too, if I can.  I promise.  But you're the one they're here for, and I can promise you this, too: they'd want you safe first."_  
  
_She wasn't supposed to go with strangers.  But she knew when people wanted to hurt her, usually, and the doe had felt_ good _in a way she didn't understand._  
  
_"Okay."_  
  
_The broom could_ fly.  
  
_She clung to Lily's waist, marvelling at the houses below them, when a sudden bloom of heat struck her back._  
  
_"We have to go."_  
  
_She twisted, staring back.  That was..._  
  
_"But -"_  
  
"No!"  
  
She staggered, staring her teacher in the face.  There was sweat clinging damply to her collar, she realised.  Her legs were shaky.  
  
"Too slow.  You need to learn to throw me out _immediately_ , not after I've gone through your innocuous memories and started poking at the painful ones."  
  
"I know."  She kept her voice as emotionless as she could.  
  
At least she'd thrown him out before the Fiendfyre had reached her parents.  
  
  
Back at the safehouse - mask off, memories returned, brain buzzing from hours spent battling to keep her teacher out of her mind - she went looking for somewhere she could be alone.  
  
It wasn't easy.  The house, like every other place Lily had set up, was stuffed to the gills.  Teenagers and children she'd rescued from the Death Eaters, other magical adults she'd taken in before they could be targeted for their "impure" blood, a few non-magicals she'd managed to save alongside their children or siblings - not to mention the babies some of those adults had made since they'd joined up.  Every bedroom had at least two people in it, and every other space in the house was shared.  
  
She could go to another safehouse, maybe.  A few of them had a wide enough area warded that its inhabitants could go outside without worrying they'd get captured.  But all those houses were full of children, and it was still light enough outside that she suspected she'd find every single one of them taking advantage of the space, despite the cold.  They'd all grown up with a high tolerance for the claustrophobic atmosphere of the safehouses, but that didn't mean it didn't wear at times, and it was worst on the kids.  
  
If she wanted peace and quiet, she was pretty sure there was only one place she could go.  
  
  
The basement was cool and silent.  She closed her eyes, slumping against the wall, and felt the tension run out of her shoulders.  
  
It wasn't natural, of course.  The room had been charmed against anything that might be irritating - insects, strong smells, and probably half a dozen other things that'd never occurred to her.  It gave the place an air of solemnity, one that quietened even the rowdiest children.  
  
Using the room as a place to relax wasn't technically something they were supposed to do, but she didn't think anyone would notice.  It was a place for contemplation, after all.  Who could tell if she was contemplating something other than her own mortality?  
  
She opened her eyes and stepped further into their memorial to the dead.  
  
Most of the names inscribed on the markers were familiar to her, if distantly; they shared last names with the children she'd grown up with, or their sad-eyed parents.  Some she knew only from Lily's stories about the freedom fighters she'd worked with before the Ministry of Magic fell, and some of those names had blasting spells attached, ready to protect their loved ones if the safehouse fell.  A few were utterly foreign to her.  She'd never dared to ask about them.  
  
She eased around the marker her parents were on, eyes averted.  She'd pay her respects some other time, on a day when that particular wound didn't feel skinned-raw all over again, when she could look at their names without feeling irrationally guilty.  Instead, she let her eyes drift over the other names, edging closer and closer to the back of the room.  
  
There was only one marker against the back wall, the smallest and oldest.  Lily must have made it in the early days, before she'd realised just how many deaths she'd have to memorialise.  There were only two names.  
  
She'd gone with Lily to one of her meetings with the Order last year.  She'd felt uncomfortably out of place.  The mask she'd worn might have protected her, but it marked her as different too, and it didn't seem to do much to hide her age from them.  And they really hadn't liked having a teenager in the room.  
  
Later, bored and not wanting to spend time with the Order's judging eyes, she'd tucked herself away in a dusty parlour, waiting for Lily to finish whatever discussion she was involved in.  She'd ended up overhearing half an argument between her and the Order's leader.  
  
She hadn't understood most of it; by the sound of their voices, it was something they'd been talking over for years.  A prophecy.  Dark magic.  Names she recognised only from the memorial.  
  
What she _had_ understood?  Dumbledore thought they were in a holding pattern.  They needed to do more than rescuing children.  They needed to strike back, hit their enemies where it'd hurt the most.  They needed to destroy the Dark Lord once and for all, no matter what it might cost them.  
  
Lily thought they wouldn't be able to do it.  
  
It ached inside her.  She'd thought they were working towards something bigger.  That the rescues they carried out were in the name of building an army, that someday all their training would end in some glorious battle to seize Magical Britain back from the Death Eaters.  
  
And it wasn't like she hadn't known Lily didn't get on with the Order; it'd been a topic of discussion around the house before, after all.  She thought they wasted too much time skirmishing with the Death Eaters, that they ought to help her rescue children instead - or that, at the very least, they should spend less time moralising about whether or not they ought to kill their enemies.  
  
Whispered even more quietly was the rumour that she thought it was the Order's fault her son and husband had been murdered.  
  
Hermione didn't know how she could bear to work with them.  It might be a little overdramatic to say she couldn't have managed it - she worked with Lily's spy, after all, didn't she?  But she hadn't known, not at the start.  He'd just been another of the anonymous wizards and witches who gave them food and clothing and wand-wood.  She'd hated him a little, the way she hated everyone who didn't have to worry about Death Eaters slaughtering them without a second thought, but not enough to refuse what he was offering.  
  
She wasn't sure he knew just how much he'd taught her, either.  How to hide her thoughts, and the skills and spells she'd need if she ever went toe-to-toe with a Death Eater - that was what she'd been sent to learn.  But she'd picked up dozens of other skills, mostly minor.  Some had probably been deliberate on his part; after all, she'd be a bad Occlumens if she could lie with her mind but not with her face, and she was quite sure his decision to teach her as much Dark magic as he had would have been a deliberate decision on his part, one that wouldn't have sat well with the Order.  
  
But there had been other things.  She'd seen fragments of his own memories as she got better at Occlumency, and even more after they spent two weeks training her in Legilimency.  
  
She knew the subtle differences in social status between the other members of the inner and outer circles of the Death Eaters, and who would be the easiest to target.  She knew what lies she'd need to tell to convince the purebloods she was one of them.  She knew what poisons wouldn't leave a trace, and which Death Eaters were bad enough at Occlumency that even her inexpert Legilimency could penetrate their defences.  
  
She knew precisely how to destabilise them.  
  
Did he know about the prophecy?  He seemed to be aware of a surprisingly large number of other people's secrets, but that seemed like too much trust for a Death Eater.  And surely someone as pessimistic as him, someone who'd seen the power of the Death Eaters close up, wouldn't have bothered helping Lily out if he knew how hopeless she thought it was.  
  
Then again, maybe he just thought prophecies were pointless.  Or misleading.  
  
Lily had thought that her son's death spelled their doom - or so it had seemed as she crouched in the parlour, breath held, listening to an argument she'd missed half the context for.  It was possible she'd misunderstood.  
  
But - as much as she hated disbelieving the woman who'd given her a future - she couldn't believe things were that hopeless.  She couldn't believe that her future consisted of nothing more than hiding from danger, with the occasional foray out to rescue another child... a child that'd be similarly doomed if they couldn't work out a way past the curses at the border.  
  
She didn't know much about actual magical prophecies, but in mythology, they never turned out to be quite what they seemed.  Maybe this was the same way.  Maybe Lily's son's death had set her on the path to create the army that'd save everyone.  Or a lone assassin who could bring the regime down.  
  
Maybe she was just coming up with excuses to do something that'd get her killed.  
  
No.  She couldn't risk it.  The Death Eaters had to know there was a group rescuing Muggleborns, but there was no way they knew how many of them there were, or that they had access to wands.  If she were caught, that much would be immediately obvious - and there'd be worse if they managed to break her.  Even with all her most valuable memories hidden, there'd be something they could use.  
  
Someday, maybe.  Someday Lily's spy would tell her he had nothing left to teach her - that she'd be able to take on any of the Death Eaters, or take on a disguise and destroy them from the inside.  She was sure he'd help her; as much aid as he'd given them, he'd be dead if the truth ever came out.  His only hope of staying safe was to make sure they won.  
  
Until then, she'd just have to keep studying.  
  
  
  
Ginny stared at the book in front of her, swallowing hard.  
  
If someone had found it - wandered into the hidden room she'd left it in, traced their hands along centuries of abandoned curiosities, broken every locking spell she'd been able to cast on the box - they might have thought it was safe to handle.  It looked innocuous, small and battered as it was.  
  
It was not safe.  Not even a little.  
  
She'd trusted him, for a while.  He'd been kind to her.  Taught her spells her parents never would've dreamed of.  But the more she told him about the world she'd grown up in, the stranger he became, muttering in the corner of her mind even when she hadn't been talking to him.  
  
One night she'd awoken to find herself two miles away from home, lying in the laneway with a bloody nose, wand in one hand and one of Mum's kitchen knives in the other.  He'd screamed in her mind, begging her to keep going.  _He's failed_ , he told her.  _He's failed, and I have to fix it, fix him, how can he call himself Lord when he can't even wipe out those stupid Mudbloods, he deserves what he hasn't done to them, I'll skin the bastard for leaving me locked up here and FAILING_ -  
  
When she'd realised who he was talking about - _the_ Lord, the ruler of Magical Britain - she'd fled home.  Locked the diary in a box she found in the attic, sealing it with shaky hands, and stolen one of Percy's Dark Arts books so she could do the purifying rituals he'd mentioned once.  
  
The traces the diary had left behind didn't go for weeks - weeks of staying up late, scrubbing herself down with morning dew and purified salt water and potions she'd brewed on the sly - but he'd faded a little more with every ritual.  And, with every ritual, she'd come a little more back to life.  
  
The box had stayed hidden at the bottom of her trunk until she went back to Hogwarts.  Her parents might _say_ they had no problems with Dark Arts, but she'd seen their faces whenever Percy mentioned his classes at the dinner table.  They would have been far happier in a world where they'd stayed illegal, and she very much doubted they would've liked hearing that she'd kept Tom around for so long because he'd started teaching her ahead of schedule.  
  
She could have lived her whole life without coming back here.  Without wending her way through the rows of junk, digging through a fallen pile to find the box she'd left, unsealing it.  Looking at the diary.  
  
He'd wanted to kill the Lord, once.  For his own reasons, but -  
  
It was a terrible idea.  The worst she'd ever had.  
  
But she didn't think she'd ever stop dreaming about what they'd done to Astoria.  
  
They hadn't been close friends.  Not since Tom.  She'd told him whose fault it was she'd been in Malfoy Manor, after all, and who'd dared her to steal something.  He'd probably realised she'd end up in even worse trouble if they kept spending time together - trouble of the kind that might bring official attention down on her and her passenger.  She'd felt bad about the way she'd treated Tori afterwards, but not bad enough to forget why she'd taken the diary.  Tori might not have meant to hurt her, but she'd grown up without consequences for any of her actions.  She didn't understand just how much danger she could get into.  
  
But they'd never quite fallen apart, either, not when they had so many friends in common.  They'd studied together and argued about quidditch.  Argued about boys and, later and more quietly, about girls.  About risks and rewards and consequences, a fight that never ended the way either of them wanted to but that they couldn't stop themselves from bringing up, over and over again.  
  
They'd said, at the trial, she was a terrorist.  Ginny wasn't sure if she believed it or not.  She couldn't see Tori, careless, thoughtless Tori, joining an organisation that wanted to take away the pureblood privilege that'd swept away any problem that threatened her charmed life.  
  
And yet... she'd be daring enough to risk it.  Angry enough at the expectation she'd marry a nice man and continue the bloodline that she might have actually done it.  Foolhardy enough to trust the wrong person and end up chained to a cold metal chair under the eyes of the Wizengamot.  
  
They'd charged her with treason.  Agreed unanimously she was guilty, based on evidence they never bothered to release to the public.  
  
Executed her as the law demanded: slowly, and painfully, and publicly.  As befit a traitor.  
  
She'd been invited to the execution, probably because they'd known each other.  Most of their year was there.  She was sure she hadn't been the only one there hiding grief and fury behind an immaculate mask.  
  
But she was almost certainly the only one who could actually _do_ something.  
  
Tom had taught her, back then, because he knew it would let him manipulate her.  That wouldn't be an option for him this time around, but if he was as desperate to destroy the Dark Lord now as he had been then, he'd take her offer.  If he didn't, he'd go back in the box, mouldering for centuries like everything else in here, and have to live with the knowledge that the only person who could've done what he wanted was probably going to fail.  
  
She was going to destroy them.  She was going to tear the whole rotten edifice down, limb by limb, stone by stone.  
  
She wasn't sure whether her parents would be pleased she was doing it or horrified by her methods.  
  
Probably both.  
  
They certainly wouldn't want her to trust Tom again - as much as what she was doing could be considered 'trusting' him.  She knew now what he'd been doing to her, after all.  Draining her life force, presumably with the intent of stealing her body once she was too weak to resist him - Percy's books hadn't gone into enough detail to explain what kind of magical construct would actually be able to do that, but the effects were fairly unmistakable.  If she let him in again, she'd have to accept that risk.  
  
If she thought she could find another way forward - if she'd been able to find books in the Hogwarts Library that told her what she needed to know, if there weren't anti-disguise spells set up around the Dark stores in Diagon Alley that would keep her from finding the what she needed without word getting back to her parents, if there were a single Dark adult she could trust to actually help her and not report on her to the Death Eaters...  
  
She'd looked everywhere she could.  This solution wasn't one she liked, but it would get her what she needed.  Tom knew plenty of Dark Arts, and she was sure he'd know ways she could learn more without running into trouble.  He'd help her if she sold it to him well enough.  He'd probably try to take her over again, but if there was one thing she _had_ gotten out of Percy's books, it was how to defend herself against possession and the like.  If he turned out to be slippery enough to get around that... well, the purifying rituals had worked last time.  
  
The things she'd heard him saying as she fled back home, that night all those years ago... they'd been personal.  Too personal for him to be a remnant of a follower, or a supporter.  The Dark Lord's supposed failures had stung him far too deeply.  
  
She wasn't certain.  Couldn't be, not without information she was sure he'd never give her.  
  
Not intentionally, anyway.  
  
But if she _was_ right - if whatever fraction of a human Tom was had originally come from the Lord himself...  
  
That would change things.  Maybe a lot.  It probably wouldn't be possible for her to manipulate Tom into telling her his real secrets, the things he'd kept back when he pretended he was spilling his soul right back to her all those years ago - but if she _could_...  If she could manage it, it'd be knowledge beyond what she'd ever dreamed of.  A secret back door into the mind of the man who'd controlled Magical Britain for a decade and a half.  
  
If His Lordship ever found out what she'd done, she'd die for it.  Probably painfully.  
  
But then, stealing the diary all those years ago had almost certainly already sealed her fate.  She hadn't known what it was, but she'd known it was valuable, and that she shouldn't have touched it.  She'd known that if someone caught her on the way out, she'd face worse consequences than she could imagine.  
  
It hadn't occurred to her that the consequences of taking the diary and _not_ getting caught would be worse than she could imagine.  
  
Maybe there was a reason no alarms had gone off when she'd slipped it into her borrowed handbag.  Maybe Lucius Malfoy had noticed the subtle compulsion charms embedded in the front cover, or the curse designed to increase the curiosity of anyone who noticed it to unbearable levels.  Maybe he'd feared what would happen if his son found it more than he feared the consequences of losing it, and had arranged for it to lie unprotected for just one night, hoping some light-fingered teenager would take it off his hands.  Maybe that was why he hadn't tried to stop her from coming into the Manor; she'd assumed he was simply too polite to throw out his guest's plus-one, but he might instead have seen her as an opportunity.  Nobody important would care if a Weasley stuck her hands into the Dark Arts and got burned.  
  
It didn't matter, anyway.  Lucius Malfoy had condemned a girl he'd known since her childhood without hesitating.  He'd burn with the rest of them.  
  
She had a plan.  She'd found an abandoned classroom on the seventh floor, hidden it with every concealment spell she knew, and then filled it with everything she could think of that might be useful.  Mostly purification potions, admittedly - just in case - but there were training dummies too, wakefulness potions, pre-enchanted talismans to help her hide exhaustion or injury...  
  
She'd read ahead on her classes, too.  Maybe he'd sulk and refuse to have nothing to do with her, and it'd be wasted effort, but if he _did_ decide he wanted to cram information into her head as fast as possible, she didn't want to have to skip homework and raise her teachers' suspicions.  
  
She had a timetable.  Christmas holidays started in less than a month.  With any luck, she'd be ready to start then; if not, she'd probably wait until summer, since Easter just wasn't enough time to carry out a full-on attack against a Death Eater.  
  
And she had a target.  Severus Snape, the Lord's own Potions Master.  He was important - a member of His innermost circle - but, according to rumour, he hated socialising and took every excuse to avoid his comrades' non-compulsory gatherings.  He'd be far less likely to be missed than, say, Malfoy would be, and even if they did notice he was gone, they might not bother to investigate.  He was a halfblood, after all.  Not as expendable as a Mudblood, but not somebody the Death Eaters would worry about, either.  
  
She doubted he had much combat experience.  She'd seen him once, when he'd come to give the NEWT students a guest lecture; he was tall and bony, with a sheen to his face and hair that suggested he spent every waking moment bent over a cauldron.  It'd be easy enough to take him down... and interrogating him would be even easier, if he turned out to have Veritaserum somewhere in his potions cabinet.  She doubted he'd have guests who might interrupt; as far as she'd been able to tell, he didn't have any friends at all.  
  
From there... well, it'd depend on what he told her.  But he'd certainly know more about the Death Eaters' politics and combat abilities than she did, and _that_ would be her stepping-stone to the next target.  And the next, and the next, until they were all too terrified to know where to turn...  
  
And then, well.  Tom wanted so _desperately_ to kill the Dark Lord.  It'd be rude of her to take that away from him.  
  
Though she'd have to make sure to kick him out of her body before he got any clever ideas about taking the country over in its time of crisis.  He seemed like the type.  
  
It wouldn't be enough.  Nothing would ever be enough to make up for what they'd done.  But at least Astoria would have the biggest funeral pyre she could manage.  
  
She took a deep breath, and opened the diary.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: offscreen torture, heavily implied (but not described) torture and murder, lots of offscreen murder, possession.
> 
> This story was written for damagectrl's 12 Months of Alternate Universe challenge, mostly in a hurry - partially because it took me an embarrassingly long time to realise I already had a hundred-word snippet that fit into the prompt (Break the Timeline, aka For Want of a Nail), partially because I'm a dumbass who can't just write _one_ thing at a time.
> 
> The original point of difference between this fic and canon is that Voldemort, rather than asking Lily to stand aside, just blasted her out of the way. And then a _whole bunch_ of changes happened.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
